Dugald, who first saw him, nudged Finlay and then both bowed their heads to him. Leith raked a hand through his grimy hair and tiredly asked, “How long has he been this way?”
“About a hoor-and-half, Sir,” Finlay said gruffly, his rough northern accent making his words heavy. “Me Lady went in just after he began.”
“Thank ye for—”
The splintering crash of something on the wall had Leith yanking the outside bolt from its lock, shoving the door open, and running in to see his mother sitting on the floor. Her thin face pale with fright and her trembling arms were braced behind her.
It was clear that she had fallen backward and for good reason. On the wall behind her was the white stain of pease porridge dripping down and, on the floor, the remains of the pewter bowl lay shattered. He could see that she had ducked to save her life.
He rushed to his mother and helped her up. Her thin, spindly hands were clutching to him with fright. He kissed her forehead and said, “Come, Mother, I’ll take care of Father.”
She nodded speechlessly as he guided her to the door and ordered Dugald to take her to the kitchens to get some tea. He did not get to see her leave as he quickly shut the door behind her and went to his father who was pacing the room and muttering to himself.
Leith watched him closely, “Faither.”
Aaron still paced. “…spies…murderers…someone is after me, someone wants to hurt me…”
Edging closer to his father, Leith reached out to him but drew back when the man brushed past him. He got closer, and when his father made a second round, he grabbed him and held him fast, expecting his father to react and react he did.
His father tried to yank his arms out of Leith’s grip, but though the younger warrior was tired, he had the strength to hold his thrashing father until he calmed. “Faither, calm ye down, calm yerself. Nay one is here to hurt ye.”
Aaron gave no reply but continued to pace and mutter under his breath. Leith tried again to tell his father that he was safe, and no one was going to harm him, but his words fell on deaf ears. He tried a third time, but his father continued to ignore him.
Sagging into his seat, Leith watched with hopeless eyes the fall of a mighty man. Aaron Balloch was renowned in the highland of Badenoch. His power on the battlefield some thirty years ago had spawned tales that were still told to this day. Aaron was a master of tactics and strategy, going so far as to even advise England’s Lord Cromwell’s military governor in Scotland against the Dutch.
His father was a stalwart in making sure justice was served. He hated liars, defectors, and traitors with a burning passion. His father’s brilliance, wisdom and calm control had served many, near and far, and now for Leith to see his father devolving into this unstable, suspicious and erratic stranger pained him dearly.
Leith watched tiredly as the man paced himself to tiredness, and when he did begin to slow down and his mumbled became a long string of jumbled sound, Leith acted. He went to take hold of the other man and saw a frailness he had never seen in his father’s eyes before.
The madness had not left his father’s grey eyes, a shade that Leigh saw every day in the mirrors. He had taken almost every feature from his father as his eyes were grey, his height of six-foot-three was taken from Aaron, and so was his broad-shouldered, muscular body. His thick brown hair alone was his inheritance from his mother.
He grabbed him and held him fast, “Faither…do ye ken who I am?”
When he was excepting a calm response, his father yanked his arm away and hissed. “Nay! Get ye away from me. Yer trying to kill me, like everyone is. I can feel it. Get away from me!”
“Nay, Faither, I am nay here to harm ye,” he said.
Aaron snarled. “Ye ken I am a fool, dinnae ye? I ken yer here to slay me. Get away from me!”
“I swear to ye that I’m nay here to do evil to ye,” Leith swore. “I am yer son, Faither. I’m Leith.”
“Leith isnae here,” Aaron spat, “He went out to do honorable work for our people. Get ye away, ye imposter!”
Leith’s hands dropped in sorrow before he lifted them in surrender. Seeing as there was nothing else that he could do with his father in this state, he backed away from the stranger who inhabited his father’s body. “All right, all right, I’m goin’, see, I’m goin’.”
As he backed out of the room, he closed the door behind him and bolted it. Sighing, he looked at the sole guard, “Keep an eye on him, Finlay.”
The guard nodded with a grim face. “Aye, Sir.”
Leith breathed out a long shuddery breath. He was not the Laird of Lenichton yet, his father was, but since Aaron had taken ill, many began to take him for their leader, even though he had not stepped on the appointing stone yet.
Rubbing his face, Leith asked, “Has me Mother returned to her rooms yet?”
“I dinnae ken, Sir,” Finlay replied. “I suppose ye would find her back in the kitchen as Dugald hasnae returned.”
Nodding, Leith made his way to the kitchens and walked into the wide, warm and aromatic chamber to see his mother sitting at a table; her slim shoulders hunched over a cup of tea. Dugald was balancing his large self precariously on a little stool, sipping tea with his mother. The cup disappeared in his beefy hand and Leith took pity on him.
He tapped the big man’s shoulder and said, “It’s all right, go back to yer post.”
Dugald looked relieved, as he stood, careful to not let
